Sam's Childhood Memory
by ceredonia
Summary: While on an investigation/kill, Sam flashes back to a childhood memory, and remembers something. (Written during NaNoWriMo 2012, inspired by Midge Ure's "Cold, Cold Heart" song) (Note: This story is complete because it wasn't meant to continue into anything else. So yes, I ended this way on purpose.)


"It was the heat of the moment…" Dean clenched a fist to his chest, singing along to the music on the radio, acting out an imaginary live performance in his head. Sam reached over and grabbed the wheel as the car careened slightly to the left, attempting to steer them back into the correct part of the road. It had been deserted for the past god knows how many miles, but he didn't like taking chances like that. They'd had enough trouble with demons lately; 'death by Dean's driving' wasn't something he wanted on his tombstone. If he would ever _have_ a tombstone, that is. His body would probably be salted and burned anyway, which was typical for hunters—_no_. _Stop it, Sam_. He shook his head, trying to get the image of his lifeless body out of his head. Man, he had issues.

"Is something bothering you?"

Sam jumped, startled out of his reverie. Castiel was suddenly in the backseat of the Impala, staring at him with his head tilted, eyes narrowed, as though he was suspicious of his daydreams.

"Uh, no, sorry, I was just lost in thought," he replied, instinctively leaning away. He still hadn't gotten used to Castiel just appearing like that out of nowhere. Dean was oblivious to the happenings around him, still singing along to Asia. Sam was so _sick_ of Asia. He cringed every time "Heat of the Moment" came on the radio, because it meant Dean would crank the volume and sing along at the top of his lungs.

"You seem concerned about something. You can tell me." Castiel tilted his head the other way. It was disconcerting. It looked like he was reading Sam's thoughts or something. He also looked kind of like a lost, but slightly angry, puppy. A puppy wearing a stylish trench coat…

"Really, Cas, it's not a big deal." Sam smiled and waved his hands around a little, trying to indicate happiness. "See? I'm fine."

"Okay." Castiel leaned back against the plush backseat, glancing around. "Do you two ever clean this car? There's a pile of fast food papers on the floor back here. Judging by the residue, they must be at least a week old."

"Don't be disrespectin' the car," Dean cut in, turning down the radio now that the song was over. "How ya doin', Cas? What's up?" He smiled at him using the rearview mirror, but Castiel was still frowning.

He looked at the roof of the car. "The sky, clouds, heaven, probably some birds flying—"

"Wow, you still don't get the whole 'small talk' thing, do ya?" Dean sighed and shook his head. "I didn't mean what's _literally up_, I meant—oh, hell, whatever. Why are you here?"

"I came to warn you about Lucifer," Castiel said, bringing his head down to look at the two of them with a very serious look.

"Yeah? What's going on?" Sam asked, a knot of dread beginning to twist around the insides of his chest.

"He's been…active, is the only way I can describe it. I just came to tell you two to be careful."

"Okay…that's not really very helpful," Dean said, turning his head back. "Why can't—aw, dammit, Cas!"

Sam looked over and saw that Castiel was already gone. "I really hate when he does that," he said, shaking his head. Dean grumbled an agreement and gripped the wheel, focusing on the road ahead of them. It was never-ending, much like their jobs.

"We'll be there in a couple hours," Dean said a few minutes later, switching the radio back to the police scanner frequency. Crackles of officer voices filled the car and Sam leaned against the window, watching the trees zoom by at speeds likely way beyond the legal limit.

"_Stop that damn whistling_!" Dean screamed, gripping his head. He dug the butt of his pistol into his temple, trying to cut off the melody that was wreaking havoc on his mind. Sam was standing on the opposite side of the room, a silver-tipped axe in his hands, looking around. They had no idea what they were up against, but apparently it liked to inflict terrible noise inside its victim's heads.

The newspapers and online articles hadn't been too enlightening, and their normal research had turned up surprisingly little. Dean was able to surmise that it was some sort of music demon, but they'd mistakenly thought it would be like something out of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, which was their go-to show for a light-hearted comedy hour. Sam knew Dean would never admit it, but he watched it primarily to see what sorts of monsters the creative team ripped off terribly from the annals of monster history. He claimed he liked it because Buffy was hot, and it had lesbians. Sam enjoyed the relationship drama the most, but usually spent most of the running time nit-picking the specifics of the creatures, knowing that true vampires would never feed on bunny rabbits or 'lose their soul' if they had sex with someone. The whole Angelus storyline had been entertaining for a while, but honestly, he had been glad it spun off into a different series he didn't have to watch. They both knew all the words to "Once More With Feeling," though neither would admit it.

"Try thinking of something else!" Sam shouted, raising the axe in the air as he hurried over to Dean, tapping him on the shoulder. Dean just glared at him, gritting his teeth.

"D'you _know_ how _hard _it is to think of _anything else_ when you have freakin' _eighties pop music_ in your head?!" he yelled, slumping against the wall behind him. He knocked into a shelf and a can of tomato sauce clattered to the floor, getting dented in the process. A small leak sprung from the aluminum and red liquid began leaking along the cement, forming a small river of pulpy juice that trailed towards the door. As Sam watched, a footprint pressed itself into the sauce, tracking it to one side a little bit. He leapt forward and swung his axe expertly, watching the blade tip disappear into something invisible in mid-air.

An unimaginably terrifying scream filled the air a split-second later, and Dean straightened with a shout that the music was gone, quickly complaining that it was replaced by a throbbing pain from the gun being dug into his head. The two of them watched as a large cloud of red smoke exploded from an unseen source and instantly collapsed in on itself, leaving behind a small red marble on the grey flooring.

"What the _hell_ was _that_ thing?" Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sam squatted down and picked up the marble, rolling it along his palm before pocketing it in his worn cloth jacket. "I have…zero idea," he replied, standing up. "But it's gone now, I guess?"

Dean shook his head. "Great. Freakin' music fairies or goblins or whatever. Now I'm gonna have nightmares of pop music. Just great…" He continued bitching as he stumbled out of the storage unit into the main part of the pizza shop, leaving Sam to clean up the mess as usual. He sighed and grabbed a towel from a different shelf, getting back onto his feet to try to halt the trickle of sauce mixing with some strange greenish-brown…blood, he was hoping, dripping from the edge of his axe.

Sam hated the middle of the night. He always woke up in the early hours with a startled jump as his body adjusted to being awake. Glancing at whatever neon-backlit clock was on the shoddy bedside table, it was always around three in the morning. Dean was always fast asleep, snoring on the other bed, his hand wrapped securely around the gun under his pillow. He used to worry that Dean would wake up from the noises he made when turning on the bathroom light and shoot at him without thinking, but eventually Sam had figured out that he pretty much never woke up unless there was screaming going on. It didn't make him feel much safer, but at least Dean wasn't the immediate death threat he used to be.

He sat on the edge of the water-stained bathtub and put his feet up on the toilet seat, dropping his head onto his hands, balancing his elbows on his thighs. The nights were the hardest, knowing that Lucifer was out there, just thinking of various ways to get inside his head. Ever since he'd gotten out of the cage he had been expecting things to happen, but nothing had really appeared yet. Not that he knew _what_ was going to appear, but he just knew things wouldn't stay so easy for long.

Sam sighed and thought back to when he was a young boy, before any of the demon stuff had started happening in their daily lives. Well, there wasn't really a time _before_ that he could remember, since his mom had been murdered when he was only an infant, but there were days when their dad wasn't around that it felt like he and Dean were just brothers, playing in the yard. They just liked playing "hunters and demons" instead of "cowboys and Indians," because that's what Dean always insisted on playing. Of course, he was always the hunter, making Sam crawl around in the bushes, pretending to be a vampire or werewolf or shape shifter. He always hated it, but Dean was older, and he was in charge when their dad was away on a job.

_"Come on, Dean, why am I _always_ the monster?" Sam whined, kicking the front of the wood making up the back porch._

_"Because I'm the oldest, and Dad said you have to do whatever I say," Dean bragged, pretending to walk around with the same sort of swagger their dad had when he was around. He propped a large stick against his shoulder, pretending like it was a sword. "Now come on, go hide in the bushes so I can track you and kill you!"_

_Sam moped away, getting down on his knees at the edge of the yard, ducking down underneath a couple bushes. He crawled in between two larger ones and hunkered down, tucking his feet underneath him. He listened to Dean yelling about how he could 'smell the werewolf scent' and heard him stomping around the yard, killing time until he would inevitably dash over to where Sam was hiding and hit him with the stick until he cried uncle. He always loved that part the most, but Sam just dreaded it. Dean always hit too hard._

'Sam.'

_Sam jumped and looked around him, but no one was there. He closed his eyes, beginning to fidget. "Stop it Dean, just play the game, don't try to scare me," he whispered, keeping his eyes squeezed tightly closed._

'It's not Dean. My name is…well, that isn't important.'

_"What?" Sam opened his eyes, glancing out through the foliage. Dean was still stomping around, fighting off invisible monsters coming at him from all sides. He was making gun noises with a smaller stick. Usually he tried to sneak a real gun out of their dad's collection, but he was probably too lazy that morning._

'I want you to be careful, Sam. Don't fall into temptation.'

_"Who are you?" Sam asked, looking up. No one was anywhere near him and he was starting to get freaked out. "What are you saying?"_

'Goodbye for now, Sam.'

_He stood up, poking his head out from between the bushes. Dean looked over and started shouting 'Werewolf!' as he ran over, starting to hit him with the bigger stick, aiming the smaller one at his chest. _

_"Pew pew! These are silver bullets! You're dead!" he yelled, pushing Sam to the ground. Sam pouted and stood up, brushing dirt from his pants._

_"I'm tired of playing. I'm going to go inside," he said, walking away. Dean continued making gun noises as he trudged up the porch stairs, shutting the screen door behind him. He sat on the couch and lay down, tucking a pillow under his head, drifting off to sleep._

"Dude, why are you sleeping in the tub?"

Sam cracked open one eye and saw Dean standing over him, shirt haphazardly tucked into his jeans, yawning widely as he rubbed his eyes. He stiffly moved his long legs out of the cracked porcelain and climbed out, pushing Dean out of the way.

"I must have fallen asleep," he muttered, leaving the bathroom.

"Hey, if you gotta have your 'special time' I'd rather you have it in the bathroom anyway," Dean called after him. "I gotta take a dump and a shower, hope you don't have to go anytime soon."

"Gross, Dean. Thanks for that." Sam sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd remembered that day of his childhood often, but this was the first time he remembered someone talking to him.

And, oddly enough, he recognized the voice as Castiel's.


End file.
